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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905113">Soulmate Tattoo</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcisamtyler/pseuds/dcisamtyler'>dcisamtyler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Broadchurch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentions of Gun Violence, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:08:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,569</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcisamtyler/pseuds/dcisamtyler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Your life in Broadchurch was normal, up until your 18th birthday when you realized you had a rare skin mark called a "Soulmate Tattoo."</p><p>Years later, living in Dorchester as an art teacher, you nearly take the plunge to find your soulmate on a Soulmate Tattoo app when you're brought back to Broadchurch after your parents' deaths.</p><p>Disclaimer: In this fic, reader uses she/her pronouns.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alec Hardy/Reader, Alec Hardy/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Moving On...or Not?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Broadchurch had always been a quaint town – sleepy and quiet. A town where the residents all knew each other somehow and said hello when they passed by on the street. It wasn’t uncommon for someone in Broadchurch to have the whole neighborhood over for a party – <cite>just</cite> to have a party and chat with everyone on how their weeks went. That was just how it worked – people were close. </p><p>After all, not many people came to Broadchurch unless they had family there. The idea of a very small town could seem unappealing to many, even if it was a beautiful beach town. It was simply a small blip on the country’s radar, nestled in Dorset. Quiet, easy, friendly. Just how the residents of Broadchurch liked it.</p><p>And then, one day – suddenly, <cite>everybody</cite> knew about Broadchurch. It had been your fault, too.</p><p>You had loved Broadchurch. You were born and raised there, in a little cottage by the beach with your parents. </p><p>You loved that cottage with your whole heart – the teal exterior with the light blue trim, hand-painted by your father. You even loved the white shutters with the chipped paint, one of them missing a piece of its corner from the time you may or may not have accidentally crashed into the side on your bicycle (you never confirmed it – but your parents knew).</p><p>Your childhood was normal and easy. Well, as normal as everybody else’s, really – you had school during the week, you played football with a local squad on the weekends. Somewhere in between all of that, you tried to foster a social life with a small circle of friends. A triangle of friends, actually – a pair of twins named Jacob and Carrie that lived nearby.</p><p>When you weren’t with Jacob and Carrie, you were by the water. It was a given. If you weren’t soaking up the sun (or what you could get of the sun – it was England, after all) on a towel, you were slumped in a chair with a sketchbook and a dark pencil, your gaze falling over the nearest section of the beach.</p><p>You would draw the people who came to visit the beach. It was hard not to. You’d watch them from afar, sketching out their basic features as they stepped into the water.</p><p>Over the years, you discovered you could learn a lot about people by the way they approached the water.</p><p>Some were confident little buggers. They would have their shoes off before they even got to the water, running in without even thinking about the temperature. Then they would fall into giggles as they realized how cold it was, hopping and skipping around as their body adjusted to the feeling of their toes numbing out.</p><p>Others would tip-toe their way into the water. They were usually behind the confident one, watching the waves crash onto the shore. They would take their shoes off and gingerly step into the water one toe at a time as if trying to sneak up on it. You liked the tip-toers. You understood them.</p><p>But the worst were the tip-toers in disguise: the avoidants. These were the ones who were too afraid to completely make the leap, so they avoided it altogether. These people probably lived their entire lives in fear. They were hard to watch.</p><p>You were always a tip-toer - not just with the water, but with anything in your life, even when you were younger. You’d feel everything out before you made a decision, so you were completely sure that it was the right thing for you. It was part of your cautious small-town nature. You couldn’t help it. </p><p>But one day, the universe decided to change that.</p><p>The day after you turned eighteen, you noticed something small, about the size of a pound, on your wrist. It seemed to form overnight. </p><p>It was the very basic outline of a gun. Tiny and tasteful, it was made out of tiny feathery black lines that looked like tattoo ink set into your skin.</p><p>It would have ignorable, really. Except you hadn’t known why it was there in the first place. You originally thought you had drawn it on your skin with a Sharpie, and then forgot about it.</p><p>But that couldn’t have been possible. When you were younger, your father had gotten shot in London while on a business trip. A random man (thankfully, with a bad aim) got him in the arm. They had to amputate it after a bad reaction in the hospital. Ever since then, you hated guns. You were scared of them and what they could do to people.</p><p>When you realized you couldn’t get rid of it, you were horrified. How were you supposed to go about your life with a small gun on your wrist when you had a father that had been the victim of gun violence?</p><p>You didn’t want your parents to see it, especially your mother, who took your father’s injury harder than him. You could have lost him, and that weighed heavily over her.</p><p>So you tried everything to cover it up – to the point where you always covered it in a thick layer of makeup and a watch if you couldn’t do makeup and a long-sleeved shirt.</p><p>You had no idea how you were supposed to explain it to your parents if they ever saw it. You knew what you did on your eighteenth birthday. You had Jacob and Carrie over for some drinks and then you went to sleep, thinking your life was going to get better somehow because you were older. </p><p>Then it somehow got worse.</p><p>Did you sleepwalk? Did you sleep-<cite>drive</cite>? It was unfathomable. Broadchurch didn’t even have a tattoo parlor! Everybody with tattoos went to the nearest tattoo parlor, which was in the town next door. </p><p>It was impossible, but you couldn’t explain this little mark on your wrist. </p><p>One day, your mom noticed the makeup slipping off – the black lines showed through the foundation as you spent the day at the beach.</p><p>As expected, your parents were furious when they found out. There were endless lectures that started out with the fact that you got a tattoo without telling them (you hadn’t) and the fact that you got the tattoo of a gun (you wouldn’t).</p><p>You were certain that you hadn’t gotten a tattoo. So much so that you compared your tattoo with others, side-by-side. There was something different about yours. The ink on a real tattoo seemed different. Yours seemed to sit in your skin like a birthmark. Only it was a birthmark that you had gotten eighteen years <cite>after</cite> you were born.</p><p>Like any concerned parents would do, they ended up dragging you to the doctor. As if you were ill. Obviously, a doctor would be able to explain why you suddenly developed a weird mark on your wrist in the shape of a weapon, right?</p><p>The doctor was baffled, referring you to a dermatologist. Thankfully, they knew exactly what you were dealing with, because they had been one of the people to first discover them, pioneering the research on them.</p><p>Turns out, it <cite>was</cite> a type of tattoo – a rare one. At the moment, slightly unexplainable, but plenty of research was in the process.</p><p>In fact, you were one of a hundred people in all of England who had one. If that didn’t make you feel any better, they explained that you were one of six-hundred in the entirety of the United Kingdom.</p><p>It was what the researchers had decided to call a “Soulmate Tattoo” – a rare skin mark that showed up on your skin on your eighteenth birthday. They had been silently researching this for years due to the controversy. In early stages, it had led to quite a few broken marriages when people with a Soulmate Tattoo discovered they weren’t with their true soulmate.</p><p>Early research had been done by scientists in Sweden (where there had been 350 cases of the Soulmate Tattoo) but it wasn’t exactly precise. It was hard to pinpoint the exact cause and reason for it. The only thing they knew was that it showed up for every single person on their eighteenth birthday.</p><p>You and your parents balked at it. You were still young. You had a long-term boyfriend at the time, but he didn’t have any tattoos. Somehow, that didn’t matter. Once you figured out what it was, you broke up shortly after. His choice.</p><p>Your Soulmate Tattoo brought a lot of media attention to Broadchurch. Some residents ate it up, loving the boom it gave to their local businesses. Others hated it and blamed you for it.</p><p>Some people thought you were lucky. You didn’t have to do much work to fall in love with somebody. You didn’t have to wade through the idiots. You had a pre-determined soulmate from birth – yes, somebody who would be your other half, somebody who you would meet and fall in love with instantaneously. </p><p>“Like a moth to a flame,” one of the Swedish scientists had told you.</p><p>The whole idea sounded terrifying. After all, moths tend to die when they touched a flame.</p><p>You tried to avoid it, but you couldn’t. It was a part of your life. Scientists would let you know about the research. They would invite you to be a part of the tests, so they could poke and prod you. One asked to take a picture of it, but you refused. You didn’t want that gun out there.</p><p>You, the girl who tip-toed into the ocean and every other decision in her life, did not want to be a part of any experiments or media attention, but people kept trying. It was difficult.</p><p>But the most difficult part was the speculation. Research had been done to understand the meaning of the different tattoos. After all, not many people had the same one. While they were all relatively the same size, they were in different locations and different shapes.</p><p>Couples who had somehow discovered each other helped spear-head the worst part of your Soulmate Tattoo – the idea that it matched with your soulmate somehow. The biggest theory was that your tattoo indicated your soulmate’s destined career.</p><p>There was plenty of research done on it over the years. You couldn’t remember all of them at the top of your head, but one soulmate couple consisted of a zoologist at the London Zoo and an actress in the West End. They had a drama mask and a paw, respectively. A couple in Scotland who owned a farm each had a shovel and a barn.</p><p>At first, some part of you secretly considered the idea of your soulmate. Your ex-boyfriend had been boring and unfulfilling, and you only dated him because you felt left out in your friend group. But you weren’t in love with him. You never were.</p><p>You ended up leaving Broadchurch, though it hurt. You needed to go to a place where people wouldn’t care about your past – this stupid tattoo on your wrist. So you followed your passion for art and went to art school in London. People in London didn’t know who you were, and when people would ask about your tattoo, you could lie. You told people it was a stupid tattoo – something you did after a night out drinking with mates.</p><p>You dated around – held a long-term relationship with someone you thought was just enough for you. When you finally graduated, you and that person moved to Dorchester where you held a job as an art teacher.</p><p>You thought your life was finally okay. People still talked about Soulmate Tattoos, but you blocked it all out. You got engaged. You lived a happy life in Dorchester. And then, over time, things between you began to sour.</p><p>They broke off the engagement, kicking you out of the flat you had shared.</p><p>Suddenly, you were left thinking about your soulmate again, even if you avoided it for years. You had always gotten the invites to the gatherings and exclusive Soulmate Tattoo offerings, but you tossed them in the trash or deleted the emails. Once, you were invited to try an app, made by someone with a Soulmate Tattoo, that was exclusive to people with them. You could upload a picture of yourself and your tattoo, and try to see who might be your match. But you were engaged at the time and had declined.</p><p>Besides, why would you want to find your soulmate? If the research was true - your soulmate had given you a terrible tattoo. You were an art teacher, so they must have had a paintbrush or an apple. You, however, got to have a gun.</p><p>What was your soulmate? A criminal?</p><p>Of course, you would be the one with a soulmate in prison.</p><p>But it hurt - finding yourself in relationships you simply couldn’t commit to emotionally. Every relationship you were in seemed like a poor compromise like you would never be truly happy unless you found your soulmate.</p><p>Frankly, you were running out of time. Your internal clock was ticking. All of your colleagues and friends were married, and some of them were much younger than you. You were sick of being the only one without somebody. But your baggage was the worst. It was right on your wrist.</p><p>You decided you were finally going to bite the bullet (no pun intended). You were going to suck it up, put on your “big girl pants” and join that app. You couldn’t live like this anymore.</p><p>You were about ready to take the plunge when you had gotten a call.</p><p>Your parents had been killed in a car accident outside of Broadchurch.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Thriller Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <cite>Three months later</cite>
</p><p>It felt strange to return to Broadchurch after all those years. </p><p>This place had been your home. You were born there and had done it all there – lost your baby teeth, had your first kiss, survived a bicycle brake accident (injuring only the cottage shutter), discovered your Soulmate Tattoo…</p><p>Now you had lost your parents in this town.</p><p>You thought you would be fine. The shock had worn off by now into a dull pain. You were a strong girl – you could handle it. You talked yourself up as you drove into town, taking deep breaths. But as soon as you saw the flowers and candles piled up in front of the town hall in a memorial to your parents – all of your walls came down in a flood. You had to pull over as grief washed over you – a mess of tears and sobs that came from deep within your chest. You had rested your head and arms on the steering wheel, embarrassed to realize after some time, that a person had been knocking on your car window. </p><p>Of course – it was a handsome man in a suit you hadn’t seen before. He slowly mouthed, <cite>Are you okay?</cite>, a face clouded with concern. You swallowed hard, and waved him off, trying to put on a brave face as if you weren’t still dripping like a tap. He hesitated, pursing his lips, before he slowly nodded and waved, still not entirely convinced as he continued up the path, never to be seen again.</p><p>So much for your “triumphant” return to your hometown.</p><p>The man wasn’t the only one to ask as you made your way around the town. It had become your least favorite question. <cite>Of course</cite> you weren’t okay. How could you be? You were in your hometown – the one you managed to escape from, trying to pick up the pieces of your life after your parents had passed in a car accident. Not to mention, you had inherited your childhood home – the once-beautiful cottage that now needed a lot of repair work. And, since you were still single with a stupid gun Soulmate Tattoo, you had nobody to share that home with, besides your fluffy poodle, Moose.</p><p>Now that you were living in Broadchurch again, you considered completely giving up on finding your soulmate. It was enough trying to keep your whole life together without some part of it fraying. Grief over what you had lost was constant, and often sudden, and it echoed through everything you did. Somehow, now, you had to start over in the place in which you had grown up. It seemed counter-productive.</p><p>But you had managed to squeeze yourself into a position at the Broadchurch Day School, your old high school, teaching art.</p><p>You didn’t need a soulmate. You had ways of keeping yourself <cite>satisfied</cite> and you had plenty of things to keep yourself busy. </p><p>You were now a part-time interior decorator, it seemed. As your parents had stopped working on the cottage as they got older. It was hard for them, and now that they were gone, it was simply a shell of its former self.</p><p>The exterior paint was completely faded and chipping, now an entirely different color, showing small areas of an ugly dirty beige underneath its previous teal. The trim was lined with dirt and the once beautiful hand-crafted shutters were completely busted. </p><p>Simply put, the cottage looked like it had weathered a storm. But somehow, you understood. You had, too.</p><p>You decided that when you weren’t at work, you would devote your free time to working on the house. It would keep you out of the way of the Broadchurch residents and Moose, your sweet, energetic Moose, could run around outside and get out his energy before you settled in for the night.</p><p>The only part that was difficult was picking up supplies. Frank, the owner of the local hardware store, was a good friend of your father’s. You had to avoid all the apologies and constant efforts at small talk as you wandered around the shop, picking out paint colors. Once you paid, you practically sprinted back to your car, heavy paint cans slamming against your legs.</p><p>It was odd. For the longest time, all you wanted was to be known for anything but your Soulmate Tattoo. Now it seemed everybody had forgotten about it, and now you were just the daughter of the beloved residents killed in a car crash right outside of town.</p><p>Despite the loss of your parents, it was nice being at the cottage by yourself. You now had a home that could be your own. No more renting flats, or living in somebody else’s home. You could pick out the new paint colors, put your favorite rug in the living room. Moose could have his dog bed in the corner of the dining room, right where you could drop food into his waiting mouth.</p><p>Though, whenever you did something new, you missed your parents. </p><p>You wondered what they would think of your renovations. Would your father approve of the new shutters? Would your mother like the pale yellow in the kitchen? The light blue in the living room?</p><p>You loved the home your parents made. But this time, it felt fresh, and more you. Like you could finally move on – just you, Moose, and the sound of the waves behind you – a constant and comforting whoosh that sounded like a lullaby.</p><p>***</p><p>You were painting the new shutters outside of your house. Hovering over a make-shift workbench, you admired how amazing the new paint color looked. You were looking at the amount you had gotten on your hands when you could hear Moose barking loudly and the sound of footsteps on gravel. </p><p>“Y/N? I can’t believe you’re here.” A high-pitched voice spoke from behind you.</p><p>That voice. You hadn’t heard that voice in years, but you could easily place it: your old friend, Ellie.</p><p>If you closed your eyes, you could see your friendship flash before your eyes - wandering down the street to her house with melting ice cream cones, riding your bikes down to the beach, her face illuminated by a flashlight in the dark as she told you ghost stories. In your memories, she was always a ray of light, her brown curls framing her face. </p><p>When your friends, Jacob and Carrie were away, she was their eager replacement.</p><p>Ellie was always set on staying in Broadchurch. When you moved to London, you both drifted apart, in favor of new friends and new experiences - now, new careers and new families.</p><p>So why was her voice coming from behind you now, outside of your cottage? You didn’t tell her you were back. Frankly, you didn’t know how to. You always figured she hated you for wanting to leave Broadchurch. It was something she never quite understood. How could you blame her? She always had a happy life.</p><p>You wiped your forehead and hands with a rag, now self-conscious of the way you looked. Paint was splattered all over your clothes, and you definitely looked more tired than ever. You were sure that black circles were deep-set under your eyes now. It was not exactly the best way to run into an old friend.</p><p>But you forced a smile onto your face and stood up, facing her.</p><p>She stood in front of you in a blazer and pants – looking like the fancy businesswomen you would see in London. Her curly hair was pinned back into a small bun. She still had those bright eyes. A bit of relief fell over you. This was the same old Ellie, just older.</p><p>“Ellie!” You exclaimed. You went in for a hug but stopped right before you could reach her white blouse. You stepped back, looking down at your paint-covered shirt, clearing your throat. “It’s nice to see you.”</p><p>“Oh,” she gushed. “You too, Y/N! I’ve missed you.”</p><p>Her eyes fell over the cottage as she took it all in – the new colors, the repair work that had been done. She smiled softly, adding, “It looks beautiful. Your parents would have loved this.”</p><p>You nodded, glancing back at the house. That’s what you hoped. “Thanks.”</p><p>You wondered if Ellie had talked to your parents after you left. They always liked her.</p><p>There was an awkward silence as you stood there together, the years of separation falling between you. While this was certainly the same old Ellie, she had a new life and so did you. You were no longer the two girls stretched out on beach towels, listening to loud pop music from a portable radio. She cleared her throat. “I would have stopped by a few months ago, but I figured you needed your space.”</p><p>Ellie was always considerate and sweet – the type of friend to give you the t-shirt right off her back if you stained yours. You smiled. It really <cite>was</cite> nice to see her.</p><p>She raised her eyebrows, studying your face. “And I wanted to invite you over for a small party tonight.”</p><p>It all came flying out of her mouth at once in a jumble as if she had been waiting to say it and wanted to get it out.</p><p>You opened your mouth, an excuse ready on the tongue. You wanted to keep your distance from the people of Broadchurch, not party with them. But she looked at you with bright eyes – the ones she always pulled out when she wanted to do something together. </p><p>“C’mon, love,” she pleaded. “You can relax, have a drink – maybe <cite>a lot</cite> of drinks…”</p><p>You raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a detective?”</p><p>“Yes, which is why we will drink responsibly.” She smirked as you bit back a sigh, glancing over your outfit.</p><p>Finally, you met her eyes. “Okay.”</p><p>***</p><p>As she left, Ellie had told you it was ‘80's-themed. You didn’t want to be the one person without an '80's outfit, so you pulled something together – an oversized t-shirt and leggings with some old Keds, your hair pulled into a ponytail.</p><p>You looked like an adult-sized Barbie doll.</p><p>As you wandered into the party, you wondered why you had agreed to go in the first place, especially as your eyes fell on her backyard – covered in neon and full of your old Broadchurch classmates. What was this, a make-shift school reunion?</p><p>You suddenly wished you had pulled out the whole book of excuses – classwork to grade, a sick dog…a sick dog that ate your classwork to be graded. You were about to turn around to leave when Ellie spotted you through the crowd, a fluffy pink tutu around her waist. </p><p>“Y/N! I’m so glad you came!” This time, she gave you a big hug. “Let’s get you a drink, so I can introduce you to a few people you don’t know.”</p><p>You simply nodded, following behind, a bit bewildered. Within five minutes, you had a cup full of an alcoholic fruit punch. As you sipped it, it definitely didn’t seem like a <cite>responsible</cite> drink, like Ellie had said. It seemed dangerous – like something that went down easy until you were wandering the empty road away from your friends. </p><p>You had been a teenager once, but you certainly weren’t one anymore. You were going to have to watch yourself.</p><p>Ellie pulled you over to a dark-haired man sitting alone. He was in a white dress shirt and black pants. His only attempt at an ‘80's outfit was a little neon necklace, clearly thrown on at the last minute. He looked like he didn’t want to be there, either.</p><p>As your eyes fell over him, you recognized him. This was the same man, who three months ago, checked to see if you were okay as you sobbed in your car. </p><p>Suddenly, a feeling, something thick and full of adrenaline, fell over you. You wanted to brush it off as embarrassment, but somehow, it felt different, unexplainable. <cite>Like a moth to a flame</cite>.</p><p>“Y/N, this is DI Hardy.” She swept a hand at him. “He’s grumpy and Scottish.”</p><p>Flustered, DI Hardy immediately stood up, accidentally knocking his plastic chair over. He awkwardly cleared his throat as he looked at you.</p><p>“Actually, it’s Alec.” He glared over at Ellie, before falling into a soft smile, shaking your hand. “Call me Alec.”</p><p>Something about this man seemed familiar. Every part of you seemed drawn to him – his chocolate-brown eyes, his slender body, the way his hair fell into his face. You hoped he didn’t notice, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you, Alec,” you said, a warm blush creeping up from the back of your neck.</p><p>“You, too.”</p><p>Ellie raised an eyebrow, glancing over as somebody pulled her away. You looked at Alec, pursing your lips, unsure of what to do next. </p><p>He gestured to the seat in front of him, plucking his chair from the ground. “Ah - would you like to join me? I don’t really know anybody here.”</p><p>***</p><p>Walking from the party, you were one hundred percent certain you were going to kiss Alec Hardy.</p><p>He now walked next to you, his body rather close to yours as you wandered up the street from Ellie’s house. You were clutching onto his jacket over your shoulders with both hands. It honestly felt like you were in high school again – this rush of feelings that had taken over as you spent the night with him.</p><p>In fact, you barely left him throughout the entire party. Ellie had dragged you away a couple of times to say hi to people from school, but every time, you would find your way back, apologizing, and continuing the conversation like it never stopped.</p><p>“I had a lot of fun,” you said. Your heart was still pounding, but yet – you felt completely calm.</p><p>Alec glanced down at you with a wide smile, his brown eyes sparkling under the light. He nodded.</p><p>It was silent for a moment as you turned onto your street, the sound of the waves welcoming you home. You listened to them for a moment before you glanced up at Alec with a smirk. “You’re a bad dancer, though.”</p><p>“Am I?”</p><p>“But your little boogie was very cute. You get an A for effort.”</p><p>Over time, the party had fallen into drinking games and a make-shift dance floor in the middle of the backyard. While you and Alec sat in a corner away from everybody else, you could still hear the music – an interesting collection of ‘80's songs, consisting mostly of old Michael Jackson.</p><p>Alec, in an attempt to make you laugh, pulled out a sitting dance move, awkwardly moving his arms in front of his chest when "Thriller" came on. You both fell into laughter, feeling very comfortable with each other.</p><p>You didn’t even drink after your cup of party punch. You felt exhilarated just by being near him. </p><p>So, how could you not kiss him?</p><p>As you leaned up against the door of your place, his face dangerously close to yours, he whispered, "Oh, well – I was always a good student.”</p><p>You looked at each other for a moment under your porch light. You studied his face – the tiny freckles that were sprinkled over his nose, the deep intensity that sat in his eyes. You could feel hear his steady breathing, the thumping that echoed against his chest.</p><p>He swallowed hard, as he leaned down, his hand over your head on the door...</p><p>And then he kissed you.</p><p>It was like the ‘80s itself – vibrant, neon, and powerful. Your entire mind had gone blank, simply letting yourself lean into the kiss and enjoy it. At some point, he must have moved his hand because you could feel both of them underneath his jacket, pressing into the small of your back. </p><p><cite>This</cite> was the fireworks show your friends always talked about. You could imagine them exploding above you – his mouth, the gunpowder -  you, the flame.</p><p>When he pulled away, he simply licked his lips and gave you a sheepish smile. You fell back against your door, looking up at him, wild-eyed, reaching out with an open palm to touch his cheek, the fabric of your long sleeve t-shirt riding up to your forearm.</p><p>He glanced down at your wrist with a smile, studying the spidery lines of the gun. “That’s...an interesting tattoo.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! The next one will also have a three-month time jump. ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Oliver Smith</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ahhh, this is the second to last part! Thank you for reading along. I really appreciate it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <cite>Three months later</cite>
</p><p>“I was telling Tom to put the kettle on and he <cite>wasn’t</cite> listening, he was just leaning there against the sink, too busy on his phone and –“ You heard the clink of a teacup as Ellie placed hers down on the table, stopping her rambling to look up at you. She cleared her throat.</p><p>You had been trying to mumble some kind of reply – a word, a nod, or at the very least, a hum every so often to make it seem like you were participating in the conversation, but it failed. You had been caught. It was clear that you weren’t exactly all together that day – you had stumbled into the coffee shop ten minutes late in a hoodie and sweatpants, you were letting Ellie carry the entire conversation, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off your phone.</p><p>As Ellie studied your face with a detective’s intensity, her face only clouded with concern. But as she peeked over the table a little bit, she realized you were hiding your phone like a student behind a desk, and her eyebrows lifted. You had been doing the same exact thing as Tom had been: ignoring her for what was on your phone.</p><p>A deep frown set into her face. “Oi, Y/N, what’s so important?”</p><p>You glanced up from your phone, slowly blinking as your eyes re-adjusted the bright overhead light of the café. You dropped your phone screen-down on the table as you crossed your arms over your chest, cuddling up in your jumper as if you were in a police interrogation. The guilt was written all over your face and you couldn’t get out of this one. But you were going to try. You straightened up in your seat, meeting Ellie’s gaze, a polite smile falling over your features. “What did Tom do?”</p><p>Ellie took a long sip from her tea, narrowing her eyes at you. “He didn’t listen. Sort of like you right now. Come on, what is it?”</p><p>You sighed and sat back in your seat, casting your guilty gaze away from Ellie.</p><p>She was one of your best friends – especially now that you were fully settled back into Broadchurch. There was no reason you needed to keep this from her, but you wanted to keep this secret for yourself. It was entirely too personal for someone with a Soulmate Tattoo to find out that they might have finally met their soulmate. Besides, she was going to find out soon enough.</p><p>You took a breath in and studied the tiny coffee shop, feeling Ellie’s eyes on you. It was your usual spot now, a nice casual meet-up spot by the station – all cozy and exposed brick. There was a flashing neon coffee cup in the window flickering as if it was slowly running out of power. But that clearly didn’t affect the inside. People were sitting all around you in animated conversations – a low indistinct chatter coming together as one.</p><p>There was even a young, handsome man – probably a bit younger than you, sitting on a barstool in the corner playing acoustic covers of popular songs on his guitar. You swallowed as you finally recognized the opening notes he was playing. It was the cover of an ‘80s hit: “Thriller.”</p><p>Suddenly, all of the memories you tried to hold back were unavoidable. Flashes of that night three months ago flitted through your head like the colorful pages of a magazine. A beautiful dark-haired shadow, his smile illuminated by neon light. The mix of your laughter together that seemed golden, floating into the sky. A warm kiss that felt passionate, calming, freeing, and invigorating – all at once.</p><p>You could feel the lightness in your chest as you remembered him that night. The way his brown eyes lingered over yours like you were the only girl in the world. How your name felt safe in his mouth – his Scottish accent cuddling the letters. You wanted to invite him inside. For once, you wanted to let a man inside.</p><p>But then his fingers lightly touched your wrist and you remembered what always held you back. </p><p>Your entire night – no, your entire world – came crashing down in one single touch.</p><p>He wouldn’t understand the weight of it even if you told him – your Soulmate Tattoo and how it always affected your relationships. Despite the feelings you had that night, he wasn’t your soulmate. It shook you to the bone to remember that.</p><p>You shook your head as if to clear it. You didn’t need those memories anymore.</p><p>Alec was gone. You had new memories to make now. Or at least – you were going to make them. You had finally found him. The man, the very beautiful man, who was going to fill your days with happiness.</p><p>You were jolted out of your reverie, thinking about all the possibilities when you heard the scraping of a chair on the hardwood floor. Ellie had grabbed your phone. She was now swiping through the notifications on your phone, her lips pursed. She giggled as she gave one big swipe. “Who’s Oliver Smith? I bet he’s not as good as Hardy, but –-"</p><p>You winced a bit, hearing his name. He and Ellie were still close friends even though they weren’t working together anymore. She had told you she wasn’t going to give up on getting the two of you together. “You two were like magic that night,” she had said. But that was the problem. She had been drinking that night. Everything seems rose-colored if you have the right glasses on.</p><p>Sometime after the party, Alec was offered to work on a case in Wolfe’s Neck, a town nearby. He told Ellie he was debating about not taking it, but it allowed him to keep his home with Daisy on the other side of Broadchurch. It just meant that he wouldn’t be around town often. You were rather thankful for that. </p><p>Though, you couldn’t avoid all Hardys. Daisy was now your student – a terrific one at that. She had her dad’s intelligence, along with a strong talent for painting. But every time you saw her walk into class, the guilt crept up the back of your neck. You could see his face when you looked at her. You wondered what she knew – or <cite>if</cite> she knew. Frankly, you weren’t going to ask.</p><p>As you watched Ellie go through all of your conversations with Oliver, her face changing with every message, she looked up at you. “Come on then. Who is he?”</p><p>“Oliver is my soulmate,” you blurted out. The whole sentence seemed foreign in your mouth like you were speaking a different language. His name, the word, the words in that order. You swallowed hard before continuing, “I’ve been on that app, <cite>Soulmate Exclusive</cite> - you know the one for Soulmate Tattoos?”</p><p>Ellie nodded, shocked. You had told her multiple times that your parents’ death had scared you out of it, but you had been lying to her.</p><p>Once you left Alec that night, with an excuse unnecessarily rude and unlike you, you had logged onto the app, still delirious. The experience with him had scared you into action. After all, this is what you had wanted before your parents passed away – to feel secure, to know that you wouldn’t have to leave somebody or be left, again.</p><p>After a month of waiting, a man replied. He had a pencil Soulmate Tattoo and insisted that you had to be his soulmate because you were an art teacher and artist. So you agreed and began talking. You liked him. He was blonde and handsome with hazel eyes and a gentle smile. It completely changed the way you saw your tattoo. If this man was involved with guns, could they really be so bad?</p><p>Ellie’s eyes widened. She looked up at you, her face falling into a sympathetic smile. “So, you finally did it then.”</p><p>You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “He works at a shooting range.”</p><p>“Oh – right.” She nodded, reaching over the table to squeeze your hand. You could see it behind her eyes: she wasn’t entirely convinced that this was the right thing for you. But you couldn’t blame her, she was still hung up on you and Alec. She wanted both of you to be happy.</p><p>“But Y/N, what about DI Hardy?” She pleaded, taking your hand in both of hers. “I’m sure he misses you – can’t you at least be mates?”</p><p>You shook your head. “I’m not going to lead him on and hurt him.”</p><p>But you knew that wasn’t the only reason. Simply being mates with Alec Hardy would only hurt <cite>you</cite> more. You knew it the moment he walked away from you that night.</p><p>Ellie kept her gaze trained on you. “He’ll understand.”</p><p>You had heard that one before. That’s what you thought about your ex-fiance. You thought he would understand. He did, for a while. You swore you could work through it all to be together, but that was the problem. In the end, you had to work for it. Being with your soulmate was supposed to be easy – that’s why some people cherished it.</p><p>You sighed, taking one last sip of your tea. “He doesn’t have a Soulmate Tattoo, Ellie. I’m not his soulmate.”</p><p>“But maybe people can have multiple soulmates…”</p><p>You took a shaky breath in as you stared at Ellie, your voice cold. “No. They don’t.”</p><p>Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, you pushed your chair back and stood up, mumbling a goodbye. </p><p>You had finally settled back in Broadchurch. It had been three months since you let Alec leave your life. You had regretted it ever since. Some part of you wondered what he was up to now. You had heard rumors that he had slept with Becca Fisher from the Traders Hotel, but Ellie insisted that wasn’t true. Sometimes, you wondered if there was another woman in Wolfe’s Neck.</p><p>Yet, you knew you couldn’t think about that. Alec could have been a part of your life but he wasn’t going to be. You couldn’t leave somebody with the baggage of knowing their date wasn’t their soulmate. At this age, it felt too much like wasting time. Even worse, it felt somewhat like a betrayal.</p><p>You had to let him go.</p><p>**</p><p>That night, you twirled in front of your mirror, taking in a deep breath.</p><p>You wanted to send a picture to Ellie, but you remembered how she watched you as you left that morning. You had stormed out on her and it wouldn’t be fair of you. Yet, all you wanted was her opinion.</p><p>You thought you looked pretty good. You cleaned up rather nicely when you weren’t trying to dress like a teacher. The lace of your blouse fell over your hips just right and you had a great pair of jeans that made your hips and ass look <cite>good</cite>. A brief thought entered your mind, as you wondered what Alec would think of you in this outfit, but the doorbell rang before you could chase it out of your head.</p><p>Moose whined as your heels on the cottage floor woke him up. You put a hand up at him to warn him as you opened the door. You had found out that Oliver loved dogs, but he wasn’t going to love it when Moose was clobbering all over his legs and ankles to get his attention. </p><p>As you opened the door, you took a deep breath in. This was the moment you had finally been waiting for: Oliver Smith, your <cite>soulmate</cite>.</p><p>You took in the sight of him and –</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Well, he was as handsome as his pictures, that’s for sure. He had a bit of light stubble around his jawline that fell down his neck. His hazel eyes shined brightly underneath the light. He had a youthful smile for his age, and he was clutching a bouquet of your favorite flowers.</p><p>You looked him over, wondering if all the research was wrong. If this man was your soulmate, why didn't you feel anything?</p><p>**</p><p>Oliver had taken you for a picnic at the park that overlooked the town football pitch where you had played in your youth. Somehow, it felt strange to be there now – 30 years older, and with the person who was supposed to be your soulmate, but you shook it off as first date jitters.</p><p>After you were done eating, you glanced over at him as he talked about his job at the shooting range. It certainly made sense that you would have a gun tattoo then because he loved them. It sent a shiver up your spine to hear him talk about them when one nearly cost your father his life. But shooting ranges offered training, he insisted. They insisted on nothing but safety when it came to the buying, shooting, or handling of a gun. It still didn’t feel good to think about it.</p><p>When Oliver wasn’t talking about guns, he was playful and talked a lot about his other interests. His favorite show was <cite>Life on Mars</cite> - so much so that he had a cat named Gene, named after the character. He showed you pictures of him – a fat calico lounging on his couch. You showed him pictures of Moose. You laughed about the differences between cat people and dog people. He made you laugh, but it wasn’t golden. Something about it wasn’t right.</p><p>You turned to him after a moment. “Can I see your Soulmate Tattoo?”</p><p>You had heard that if your soulmate touched your Soulmate Tattoo, you would feel it. You needed that confirmation – you needed to know if you were the problem. People with Soulmate Tattoos could feel differently about their soulmates, right? There wasn’t one exclusive rule about how you should feel when you were with your soulmate, just the majority.</p><p>You swallowed as Oliver’s eyes grew cold right in front of you – the hazel quickly becoming dark. “No.”</p><p>You knew it was on his wrist, like yours. A little pencil. It scared you as he turned away from you, his right arm out of view.</p><p>“Please? I just want to see –-" Your words were cut off as he grabbed your wrist to stop you. You winced at his strength, feeling his fingers press into the bones.</p><p>He gritted his teeth. “I said no.”</p><p>At once, he let go and violently tossed your arm away, but you were stubborn. You needed to know. You had been waiting nearly twenty years to meet this person. <cite>What if your soulmate wasn’t actually your soulmate?</cite></p><p>You grabbed his wrist and touched it, watching in horror as the black ink smudged under your touch. It wasn’t real. None of it was real.</p><p>Your mouth dropped open as tears stung in your eyes. “You lied to me.”</p><p>In one breath, Oliver was on top of you now, holding you down. He pulled out his keys, and in one motion, pulled out a swiss army knife, the blade against your throat. He narrowed his eyes at you. You couldn't find the sweetness in his features now. “I lied to everybody. I easily faked that tattoo to get onto that app. You know why? Because that app is bullshit. Soulmate Tattoos are bullshit.”</p><p>You were careful not to breathe too hard. You could feel the cold of the blade against your neck. “Oliver –“</p><p>Oliver laughed bitterly. “You think my real name’s Oliver? No. My name is Jack.”</p><p>Your chest sank as it all came together in your head. That was why it didn’t feel like explosions and euphoria when he was standing in your doorway. You tried to steady your breathing, but it was hard.</p><p>You looked up at him, trying hard not to cry. “Why me?”</p><p>“Oh, honey,” you cringed at the pet name, the faux-sweetness dripping off its syllables, “it was never about you. This is about proving that Soulmate Tattoos don’t mean anything. You willingly went on this date with me, didn’t you?”</p><p>“It never felt right,” you spat.</p><p>Jack smiled. “Well, now no one will ever know.”</p><p>He was about to move the knife forward and across your throat when you heard footsteps in the grass from a few feet away. “GET OFF OF HER,” a person growled.</p><p>As Jack instantly hopped off of you, putting the knife away, you recognized that voice. Your chest fluttered. </p><p>It was Alec.</p><p>As you stood up, trying to get your bearings, you were practically tackled by a woman in an orange raincoat. When you realized it was Ellie, you squeezed harder than ever before. Your best friend had come to save you. “How did you know?” You asked, your voice shaky.</p><p>She ran her hands over your arms in comfort as she looked at you. “I had a bad feeling when you left this morning, so I had someone at the station run the name. There was no Oliver Smith working at that shooting range. So I had one of the officers dig deeper – and they found Jack Castor, a suspect in a murder case involving Soulmate Tattoos in Manchester.”</p><p>Behind you, Alec was placing Jack in handcuffs, pushing him towards an officer. Jack was yelling profanities as Alec rolled his eyes at him. “You deal with him,” you could hear him say. </p><p>Ellie followed your gaze and smiled knowingly. “He still cares about you, you know.”</p><p>“Really?” You whispered.</p><p>Ellie gave you one of her big smiles – the ones where her eyes lit up, making you feel certain you were safe. “I’ve never seen someone so smitten after one night. He’s just hiding it, that <cite>bugger</cite>.” </p><p>All you wanted was to give Alec Hardy a hug and apologize. </p><p>But he had left with one of the officers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Paintbrush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we are, at the end. :')</p><p>Thanks for reading along. I hoped you enjoyed it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You stood at the front of your classroom and waved as all of your students quickly filtered out the door. You giggled as some of them squeezed by so fast they looked like colorful blurs attached to a backpack. You couldn’t blame them. The school day was finally over. They could celebrate the end of a long week and enjoy the weekend. Even you were ready for that night. After the chaos that had happened the night before, Ellie invited you over for an actual girls’ night. </p><p>Well, a girls’ and <cite>Fred</cite> night. But Ellie’s little son was cute-as-a-button. You certainly didn’t mind him joining you two.</p><p>Ellie, sweet as ever, promised your favorite films, your favorite meal, a bottle of wine, and the idea that men didn’t exist (all but two, actually – her sons). But she smirked when you corrected her, saying you wanted to remember just one more: a particular Scottish DI that ran off before you could talk to him. He had yanked Jack away and stalked off so quickly that you barely saw him.</p><p>You wondered if it was because he was still upset about you. Or if he even cared. Three months was enough time to find a new woman, especially when you looked like <cite>that</cite>. But Ellie talked about him as she drove you home, claiming he didn’t let a lot of people in and shut down often. </p><p>"It makes sense, he needs somebody like you," she had said. And, she added with a laugh, that when she called from her car outside of his house, he ran out the door, practically ripping her car door off when he got in it.</p><p>You were staring at the open doorway, imagining it all - a frantic Alec in front of Ellie's car - when you realized there was still one student left lingering in front of your desk. She cleared her throat, clutching her book bag with both hands. Alec's daughter, Daisy Hardy.</p><p>Shaking your head in embarrassment, you turned to her, your hand on your chest in apology. “Oh – Daisy, what – what can I do for you?”</p><p>She bit her lip and shrugged, her hair falling off her shoulder. “Um, I just wanted to tell you – about my dad.”</p><p>You could have sworn your heart dropped into your stomach, and for a moment, you touched it to check if it was still there. A warmth crept up the back of your neck.</p><p>You cleared your throat, as you leaned against the chalkboard, trying to look casual. You were clearly failing, though, because Daisy was still biting her bottom lip, trying to hold back a giggle, her lips curling into a smile.</p><p>“It’s just – he asks about you.” She shifted her weight to her other foot and back again. She bustled with young energy, unable to stop moving in place. She continued, now tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Like, all the time. It’s awkward because you’re my art teacher, but it’s cute. I think he likes you.”</p><p>Your breath hitched in your throat at the confirmation. The casual pose you had been trying to adopt by leaning against the chalkboard and crossing your arms over your chest fell quickly, your arms now at your side.</p><p>You opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn’t get any words out. Daisy simply grinned. “You know…he likes art.” Her eyebrows furrowed and she shrugged again. “Or at least, I think he does. He has a weird paintbrush tattoo on his upper arm. Says it was a stupid thing when he was a teen—” </p><p>You knew it the moment you heard it. That was a <cite>Soulmate Tattoo</cite>.</p><p>You glanced up at Daisy, grabbing your jacket and bag in a hurry. “I apologize, but I have to go.”</p><p>Daisy’s gaze fell over you knowingly. She giggled, shouting, “He’s at the beach,” as you darted out the door, quicker than one of your students.</p><p>***</p><p><cite>I’m not broken, I’m not broken, I’m not broken</cite>, you kept repeating in your head, almost in an echo with your heartbeat. But it was true. You weren’t broken – your body had been screaming at you that your soulmate was right in front of you, and you were too scared to face it.</p><p>During periods of early research, the scientists had said that Soulmate Tattoos could be general. It was frustrating for some. The wife of a shop-owner was upset when her tattoo was a clothes hanger, but her wife’s shop was a hardware store.</p><p>It was why you assumed Jack’s pencil – though, completely fake – matched with yours. You were always an artist, and artists use pencils. </p><p>So, the fact that your gun tattoo matched with Alec’s, who worked in the Criminal Justice system in England made sense. You were thankful to find out that after all of that, your soulmate still wasn’t a criminal.</p><p>After the stress of the night before, you smiled as you walked down onto the beach. <cite>He has a paintbrush</cite>, you thought.</p><p>The salty air welcomed you home, enveloping you a hug. A soft but cold breeze rustled your hair and the fabric of your dress. This place – Broadchurch was truly your home, and now you didn’t have to feel so alone.</p><p>It was rather cold for a beach day, so the beach was empty. But Daisy was right. There was one man lingering towards the water, his dark-brown hair falling into his face as he peered into the blue. His jeans were carefully rolled up to his ankles, and you watched for a moment, a wider smile creeping up on your lips. The water lapped around him, the waves just barely kissing his feet. You couldn’t believe it. DI Alec Hardy was a certified <cite>tip-toer</cite>.</p><p>He inhaled and stared off into the horizon – his hair tousled by the breeze. His arms were light by his sides. He didn’t look like the DI everybody else knew - a grumpy Scotsman who Ellie always teased for having a rod in his back.</p><p>Your heart swelled at the sight of him, and without thinking, you started running.</p><p>A burn carried into your lungs as you ran as fast as your legs would take you. All the way down to the water where your soulmate - yes, your <cite>soulmate</cite> was standing, taking in the clipped view of the sun. He lightly kicked at the water with his bare foot.</p><p>He turned in surprise as he heard you running up behind him. He swallowed hard as you jogged right into the water in front of him, ignoring the initial shock of the cold as it instantly numbed your feet and ankles. You were not going to be a tip-toer. Not today.</p><p>His gaze wouldn’t leave yours, and you could see the breath catch in his throat. For a moment, his mouth opened and closed, as he tried to figure out what to say. Instead, he shook his head and he smiled brightly, almost starry-eyed.</p><p>You simply swallowed hard, pulling up your sleeve. “I need to show you something,” you breathed.</p><p>Alec moved forward as if he knew exactly what you meant. With a soft nod, he stared at your extended arm.</p><p>“It’s stupid, but my soulmate gave me a <cite>gun</cite> as a tattoo.” You gave a little laugh as you stepped forward, tears stinging at your tear ducts. “I had to tell people for years that I got a <cite>weapon</cite> tattooed on me while I was drunk.”</p><p>The edge of Alec’s mouth curled up in empathy. His eyes sparkled as he reached out to grab your hand, his fingers running over the soft lines of your tattoo.</p><p>It was instant. The movement in your chest. Like tectonic plates coming together. Two puzzle pieces, though jagged, finally fitting together as one.</p><p>“I knew it at that party,” he whispered. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “The moment I looked at you. And then you said you were an art teacher…” he trailed off, taking your hands in his.</p><p>You smiled. “You have a Soulmate Tattoo of a paintbrush.”</p><p>“Could be worse. I could have a weapon,” he replied with a smirk, a quick laugh escaping his lips. “Sorry about that.”</p><p>You stared as he started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his white cotton tee underneath it. He pulled the fabric down on one side, and there it was, on his upper arm: the small inked lines of a paintbrush. You hesitated, your fingers already lingering by his arm, but Alec nodded at it as if asking for it.</p><p>You brushed your fingertips over it, your breathing soft and steady. This tattoo didn’t smudge under your touch. Now, your chest grew soft. You felt like floating, your heart skipping tiny beats.</p><p>Underneath your touch, Alec shivered as he watched you carefully, his lips parted. After a few seconds, he tugged at your waist, pulling you close to him, as if he couldn't wait any longer.</p><p>You squeaked and grabbed onto his shirt in shock. But soon after, you fell into giggles, your forehead on his chest. You could hear his heart thumping, and the slight rumble as he laughed with you, the two of you tangled up in the water.</p><p>You looked up at him, after a moment. “Thank you,” you started, a soft smile on your lips, “for not giving up on me.”</p><p>Alec tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his hand gently lingering on your cheek. He smiled, pressing his lips to yours in a quick kiss. “I never will.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! This is probably going to be a three-parter. Maybe four, if I'm feeling up to it.</p><p>I'm a sucker for a Soulmate AU and really wanted to write something else with Alec Hardy in it. He will be coming into it soon, I promise, hahaha.</p><p>Let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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